


quiet, tender, sincere

by aditlep6



Series: quiet, tender, sincere [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Penetrative Sex, Trans Male Character, Trans Oma Kokichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28599444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aditlep6/pseuds/aditlep6
Summary: Ouma is good at implications, but Saihara isn’t good at picking up on them.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: quiet, tender, sincere [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2112006
Comments: 7
Kudos: 139





	quiet, tender, sincere

**Author's Note:**

> saihara: (runs you over in psyche taxi) hello lgbt community
> 
> a note: more trans-friendly terms are used to refer to ouma's genitalia in this fic!
> 
> title is a lyric from far in time by mother mother
> 
> enjoy!

They’ve been dating for a few months now.

They’re on their way back to Saihara’s after seeing a movie. Ouma insisted a movie wasn’t a sufficient date even though the theater was almost empty and they chatted and giggled throughout the saccharine romcom. Saihara offered to take them out to dinner, but Ouma insisted having snacks at Saihara’s apartment would be enough.

Ouma is good at implications, but Saihara isn’t good at picking up on them. Was he saying what Saihara thought he was saying? Their kissing could get heavy and some of their touches weren’t exactly innocent, but what were Ouma’s expectations? Saihara’s questions could probably be solved with an awkward conversation, but he wasn’t one to initiate those, and Ouma wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, admittedly preferring to see where things went. 

Saihara’s been in relationships before, but he wants to do this one right, wants it to last. Surely it’ll come up before anything serious happens. They certainly weren’t going to have the discussion on the train ride to Saihara’s apartment or in the elevator up to his floor. Ouma is uncharacteristically quiet the whole journey, which allows Saihara to become engrossed in his nervous thoughts.

Before he knows it, he’s unlocking his apartment door and holding it open for Ouma to enter first. Ouma, familiar with Saihara’s living space, flicks on the light and gets to work removing his shoes and winter coat. Saihara follows, and once his own coat is hung on the rack, he turns to Ouma to ask what kind of snacks he wants, and lips are on his. 

The pressure is gentle, but he backs into his door instinctually. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this, this is something that he knows. It’s something he loves about Ouma, how comfortable he’s become with his unpredictability. He kisses back without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Ouma’s waist. Ouma returns the touch with arms around Saihara’s neck, reaching up into the kiss as Saihara leans down.

Ouma deepens the kiss but quickly retreats, prompting Saihara to chase after the taste of the popcorn and soda they shared in the theater. Saihara indulges the sensation of tongues slick against each other for a while and withdraws with a nip to Ouma’s bottom lip, eliciting a pleased hum in response.

Ouma whispers against his lips, “What’s Saihara-chan thinking about?”

“You,” Saihara answers smoothly, surprising even himself. The answer seems to please Ouma, who presses closer and returns to kissing. He tangles his fingers in Saihara’s hair and softly scrapes his scalp. The heat and insistence in the kisses are clear, encouraging Saihara to trail his hands down from Ouma’s waist lower, and lower, lightly squeezing what he finds and tugging so every part of their bodies are aligned.

Ouma smiles against his lips and Saihara assumes it’s a reaction to feeling the growing hardness in Saihara’s pants pressed against him. This is usually where they would stop, one or both of them withdrawing with awkward smiles and changing the subject. Tonight is different as Ouma continues with his demanding kisses, little noises and huffs beginning to slip out of both of them.

It’s difficult to pull away from the vice grip Ouma has in his hair, but Saihara manages and catches his breath while taking in Ouma’s confused look. “Is… are you sure?” 

“Haven’t I made that clear? Or is Saihara-chan just shy?” Is Ouma’s non-answer. Saihara hesitates, blurting out his first thought against his better judgement.

“W-Well, I’m the only one who ever, um, shows it…” Ouma pauses for a beat, and withdraws his fingers from Saihara’s hair, resting his hands on his chest instead. Saihara fills the awkward silence by continuing, “...I’ve never, ah, felt you get hard, Ouma-kun. I-I thought you didn’t want it, or something.” 

Ouma’s expression betrays nothing, but his tone is clearly hurt. “Saihara-chan hasn’t figured it out yet, huh? Some detective you are.” He steps back, putting about a foot of distance between them, and both sets of arms fall to their sides. “I think I’ll take those snacks now, if you don’t mind.”

“Wait,” Saihara objects before figuring out what he’s going to say, “um… I truly have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m sorry if I’m missing something obvious.” He doesn’t exactly believe that it’s obvious. Ouma isn’t very transparent about his thoughts or feelings.

Ouma seems to contemplate this, crossing his arms and averting his gaze. Eventually he chuckles. “I’ll take it as a compliment, actually! I thought you’d pick up on it by now.” He makes no effort to elaborate further.

Saihara takes up the challenge, racking his mind for any clue as to what Ouma might be referencing. He subconsciously runs his eyes over Ouma’s small frame, trying to pick up on body language, but finds nothing. His memories of their relationship or the time before dating reveal nothing, either. Ouma clearly grows impatient and bounces on his toes.

“I’m trans, Saihara. I don’t have… well, I _do,_ but it’s not… it’s different than yours.” Ouma makes eye contact, and when Saihara doesn’t react immediately, he deflates. “Is that a problem?”

“No! Not at all, it’s not a _problem…_ ” He doesn’t know how to explain how expressly okay it is without stuttering more or sounding weird, so he gives up. “Thank you for telling me.” He tentatively takes Ouma’s hand and waits to continue until he’s sure Ouma won’t pull away. “This doesn’t change anything, um… I still want to, uh… if you were worried about that.”

Ouma’s mischievous demeanor returns in a flash, crossing a finger of his free hand over his smirk. “Oh? Is Saihara-chan feeling bold now that he knows what’s in my pants?”

Saihara blushes and scratches his head. “W-Well, can we talk a little bit? I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable with any, um, terminology, or…”

“But isn’t talking so _boring_? I don’t see why you need to refer to my goods while you’re doing stuff to them.” Saihara sputters which provokes one of Ouma’s signature giggles. Ouma is being avoidant, but Saihara decides to go with it for now.

“And what sort of… stuff… were you thinking about doing?”

That seems to catch Ouma off guard, and he hides his blush poorly by looking down at their socked feet. “Just… you know.” He lets go of Saihara’s hand to make a crude gesture with both of his — he makes a ring with two fingers and points through it with two others. “You know?” 

Saihara’s eyes go comically wide. “Uh, I didn’t-”

Ouma cuts him off. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do mouth and hand stuff if it makes you uncomfortable. I know it wasn’t, um, exactly what you expected.”

It’s not like Ouma to be so shy about anything. Saihara senses a miscommunication somewhere, but the absurdity of the conversation takes him longer to process. “If you don’t want me to touch you in a certain way, that’s okay, but only if it’s what you want, and not what you think I feel.” Ouma nods slowly, but doesn’t reply. “What I’m saying is, um, I would like to do those things. I-If you were okay with them, of course…”

Ouma seems to consider his options for a moment, Saihara’s anxieties increasing for the brief period of silence. “...Okay. I want Saihara-chan to use his hands, but maybe his mouth can be another time.” He smiles up at Saihara brightly, and Saihara can’t help but smile back.

“Okay, Ouma-kun… can I kiss you again?” Instead of replying, Ouma touches Saihara’s cheek almost reverently and leans up on his tiptoes, but stops short before Saihara’s lips.

“If there’s anything you’re not comfortable with, you can tell me too, y’know. I don’t want to be the one with all the hangups!” Ouma’s voice is lilting but the sentiment is serious. 

“They’re not hangups, Ouma-kun… but I understand. Um… I can’t think of anything, but I’ll stop you if I get uncomfortable.” He’s not worried about it. Ouma smiles once more and pulls Saihara down by the nape of his neck.

The kissing begins again unhurriedly but Ouma’s eagerness speeds things along, taking more charge as he licks into Saihara’s mouth and holds him close. Their bodies realign, and even though Saihara’s hardness flagged during their conversation, Ouma presses up against him gleefully as if trying to get it to happen again.

Ouma holds onto Saihara’s shoulders and pulls back from the kisses only long enough to raise his knee up to Saihara’s hip, swiftly jumping and clinging like an octopus. Despite almost losing balance, which could have been disastrous, Saihara manages to catch him and look down in incredulity. 

“All that training with Momota-chan worked out in my favor, huh? Well, get on with it! Take me to bed!” Saihara wonders if Ouma’s confidence is a mask for nervousness while he carries him to his bedroom. 

“Is this your first time?” Saihara asks without thinking.

A beat. “Nope!” Saihara doesn’t believe him. Ouma doesn’t inquire in return.

Saihara kicks the door shut behind him, even though he lives alone, and lies Ouma on his back on the bed. The sheets are messy and slept-in. Ouma kicks them all down to the foot of the bed without prompting, which isn’t how Saihara would have gone about solving the issue, but what’s done is done. He turns the bedside lamp on but not the overhead light, the dim yellow glow enough to see most of Ouma’s face but not the fine details.

Ouma reaches his hands out towards Saihara almost childishly, but his expression is serene. Saihara obliges and crawls over Ouma, slotting himself between his parted knees, hovering over his face and preparing to lean down for more kisses.

“You’re not even gonna take your shirt off?” Ouma asks in a mock-scandalized tone. 

“W-Well, yes, I was going to,” Saihara argues, but knows it’s no use. He sits back to pull his shirt over his head. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath it, and he pushes down the shyness that comes with shirtlessness; he’s not nearly as insecure about his build now as he was a few years ago, but it’s the first time Ouma’s seeing him like this.

Ouma runs careful fingers down the bare skin of Saihara’s sternum, the simple touch electric and only a little ticklish. He withdraws when Saihara twitches, but instead of asking him to continue, Saihara tugs at the hem of his shirt in suggestion. Ouma sits up enough to pull his shirt off much more quickly than Saihara did his own, the scarf coming with it. 

It’s hard to see through the dim lighting, but there’s a barely-there scar under either of Ouma’s pecs. Saihara touches one with his fingertips, watching Ouma’s face for any objection. Ouma answers his wordless question unprompted. “High school,” he explains, “I got them chopped off in high school. Neat, huh?”

“Yeah,” he whispers and leans down to kiss one of the scars. If anyone else were to hear the surprised noise that sneaks out of Ouma’s throat when he does, he’d probably have them assassinated. “ _Saihara._ Stop teasing. I don’t have all night.” 

Saihara withdraws. “I thought you were staying over?”

“I’m joking, jeez,” he assures, but his tone is insistent. Saihara decides to get on with it.

He’s seen glimpses of Ouma’s soft stomach peeking out from under his shirts before and he’s always wanted to see it bare. Based on the way Ouma tenses up when Saihara’s attention shifts to the pudge from sweets and soda, he doesn’t feel the same way about it. “Beautiful,” Saihara murmurs against his skin between kisses, not even sure Ouma can hear him. Soon after, he trails his lips back up his torso as not to push him too far out of his comfort zone.

His lips find the underneath of Ouma’s jaw, a sensitive place he feared giving too much attention before, in case things got out of hand. He plants chaste kisses down Ouma’s jawline and along the column of his throat, nipping along his collarbone. “Can I leave marks here?”

“I don’t know, can you?” Saihara can hear Ouma’s smirk without looking up. When his mouth returns, Ouma’s fingers tangle in Saihara’s hair urgently. “Uh, lower. Below my neckline.”

“Okay.” To be extra cautious he goes beneath his collarbone, barely sinking teeth in before sucking a mark with purpose. Ouma squirms beneath him, but the grip he has in Saihara’s hair doesn’t pull him away, so he waits a few more seconds before releasing with a _pop_. A dark, pretty mark shows against his porcelain pale skin, and Saihara leans back down to place another one when he notices Ouma’s panting.

Ouma doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to. Saihara’s arousal is obvious through his jeans, yet Ouma is already much further gone than he is. Ouma must follow his line of thinking because his hands hurry to his own belt buckle, kicking off his pants with urgency. Saihara clambers off the bed to get out of Ouma’s way and removes his own, leaving just his tented boxers.

When he returns, Ouma’s taken everything off, boxers and all. He has a hand over himself, closing his thighs protectively, but it doesn’t look like he’s touching anything. After a shaky exhale, he parts his thighs once more and gestures to the place he’s most sensitive. “You said terminology, so… this is my dick, or cock, or whatever, just call it something like that. I’ve been on T for a while, so…” Saihara assumes he means that his cock is clearly bigger, hard, and prominent. “A-And this is my front hole, don’t call it anything too different. ‘Folds’ is fine for the other stuff, but… yeah.” Saihara has never heard Ouma stutter, ever. 

He kisses the inside of one of Ouma’s knees but doesn’t let his face get near anything incriminating, for Ouma’s comfort. “Okay. Thank you.”

Tired of being distracted from kisses, Saihara settles between Ouma’s parted legs, leaning down and groaning softly when his arousal brushes against Ouma’s abdomen. Ouma arches his back up and prolongs the sensation, but Saihara’s body weighs him down as he leans into a kiss that turns into two, three, and then they begin to blend seamlessly into each other, more tongue and heavy breathing than lips. Ouma hooks his ankles around Saihara’s back and tugs him closer, squeezing him and rocking his hips up in aborted thrusts, clearly getting desperate.

He hates to do it, but he untangles himself from Ouma’s grasp and lies on his side so he can see both what he plans to do and Ouma’s reactions to it. Ouma lets out a dissatisfied huff but keeps his legs spread as Saihara trails his hand past his navel and over the mound of dark, unruly hair. 

The heel of his palm unintentionally grinds over Ouma’s cock and the full-body shiver it evokes makes Saihara want to pull back, but one of Ouma’s hands flies to Saihara’s wrist, holding it tightly and guiding it lower. Saihara immediately feels the slickness of Ouma’s arousal on his outermost folds. He runs a fingertip along the parting in warning, up and down a few times to tease, and presses in carefully, watching Ouma’s face for any discomfort and finding none. His finger presses in as much as the angle allows and meets no resistance. After a few slow drags in and out, he adds another finger and continues, but Ouma tenses beneath him. Saihara immediately pauses on the outstroke and checks his face.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Ouma whispers, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Keep going…” With that he relaxes, but presses down on the back of Saihara’s hand, pressing the heel of his palm against his cock once again. “Both,” he instructs.

Based on his reaction from earlier, he can’t take too much direct stimulation there, so Saihara brushes against him lightly but only grinds every few strokes in. This sets a comfortable rhythm and draws out grunts and moans from Ouma that increase in volume. He subtly grinds down on the fingers inside him, tangling his free hand in Saihara’s hair, the hold he has getting tighter as Saihara persists. 

“Three fingers,” Ouma says eventually, his voice hoarse.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes,_ ” is Ouma’s answer, “go slow.”

He makes sure his ring finger is sufficiently slick, which isn’t difficult with the state Ouma is in, and begins the press in slower than when he started, watching Ouma’s face carefully throughout. Ouma tenses slightly but he pauses to let him get used to the sensation. After a terse nod of approval, Saihara takes his time building back up to the same rhythm as before, Ouma frustratedly bearing down and pulling Saihara’s hand up into himself to meet the strokes midway. He whimpers, trembles, and tenses around the fingers inside of him, letting go of Saihara’s wrist to ride out his orgasm with a broken moan.

Saihara presses his fingers into him a few more times as he climaxes and withdraws as he comes down. The sight and sensations are incredible, and he begins subconsciously rubbing himself against Ouma’s hip to relieve the tension. Ouma soon notices and touches Saihara timidly through the fabric of his boxers, tracing a single finger around the head.

“Mm, I should return the favor, huh? Would Saihara-chan last long enough to be inside me if I used my mouth on him?”

The images that flash through Saihara’s mind only serve to make him more desperate. Pushing down any remaining reservations, he tells the truth. “I-I don’t think I can do both… you don’t have to, um, if you’re not sure…”

“I’m sure,” Ouma assures, pushing Saihara’s shoulder so he lies flat on his back. “If Saihara-chan is so much of a virgin that he won’t last long in my mouth, then I guess we just have to get to the main event.” With a giggle he lifts a leg to straddle Saihara but seems to think better of it at the last minute, instead reaching down to the floor where their clothes lay discarded in a careless pile. Whatever he’s looking for he finds almost immediately and comes back to the bed to show off his spoils: a metallic wrapper with an unmistakable ring in the center. “Are _you_ sure?”

“Yes,” Saihara confirms and guides Ouma’s legs to straddle him for real. He tries not to think about Ouma keeping a condom in his pocket for the entirety of their date, but at least he knows this was planned for. He holds out a hand to take it, but Ouma tears it open himself and lowers the waistband of Saihara’s boxers to expose him. He’s hard and has been for a while, to the point that it’s almost painful by now. A bead of precome pools at the tip and Ouma teases at the slit with his thumb, causing Saihara to jerk, but his lower half is pinned to the bed. Ouma rolls the condom on and grips the base, getting up on his knees to position himself without ceremony.

“Wait,” Saihara says at the last moment, and Ouma freezes entirely, looking up with a concerned expression. Unsure how to explain himself, he reaches over to rummage in a nightstand drawer for a familiar bottle. 

Ouma catches on rather quickly and scoffs. “Saihara, I’m like a water slide down here, I don’t think we need that.” Saihara laughs wholeheartedly and jostles Ouma a bit in the process, getting him to follow suit.

“I’d rather be safe than sorry,” Saihara justifies between chuckles. He squeezes a liberal amount in his palm and applies it to himself with a few firm strokes, making his breath hitch with relief and anticipation. They both come down from their laughter as the lube is set aside and Saihara wipes the excess on his bedsheets, placing his hands on Ouma’s hips soon after. “Okay, um, thanks for waiting.”

Ouma hums in response and gets back into position, shivering when the tip brushes his entrance, but still lowers himself at a torturously cautious pace. Saihara’s fingers dig into the softness of Ouma’s stomach, but he relaxes his grip and focuses on steadying his breathing instead. The sensation is divine, Ouma tight, hot, and slick around him, and Saihara reveres every centimeter that consumes him until Ouma is fully seated on his cock. 

Saihara tries to catch his breath but Ouma shows him no mercy, moving around experimentally; he rolls his hips, not causing any friction, only movement that makes Saihara hiss and long to buck up into him. Ouma places both hands on Saihara’s chest and bends all the way down to dot kisses wherever he can reach on Saihara’s face and neck, ending with sloppy licks into Saihara’s open and panting mouth. Saihara, completely engulfed in Ouma, feels like he’s being tortured as long as he’s pinned down. 

“O-Ouma-kun, _please,_ ” he manages, “you feel so good… please move…”

Ouma’s expression is unreadable for only a second before he recovers. “I’m only teasing because I wanted you to beg… and it worked!” 

Dragging his hands down Saihara’s torso and sitting upright, he raises himself up on his knees until Saihara’s cock is about to slip out of him, and he drops his weight back down firmly, clenching around Saihara as soon as he’s fully seated once more. The whimper it rips from Saihara is mortifying, but he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed before Ouma is doing it again, and again, and again, his noises getting louder involuntarily as the pace speeds up. Ouma begins giggling above him between gasps and breathy groans, clearly enjoying the show of his boyfriend getting overwhelmed with pleasure. 

“Does Saihara-chan like getting fucked like this? Does he- _ah-_ want to come while he’s still inside me?”

Saihara nods furiously, unable to form coherent sentences, and reaches for Ouma’s cock to return the favor, but it’s like a moving target with how Ouma is bouncing. Ouma swats his hand away and touches himself instead, his other hand lacing his fingers with Saihara’s, a sweet gesture not fitting the erratic movements.

“Saihara, I’m-”

“M-Me too, let’s-”

Miraculously, Ouma comes first, tensing around Saihara and shuddering as he bounces a few more times, riding out his second orgasm. The sight, sounds, and tight clench around him push Saihara over the edge soon after, holding onto Ouma as he rides the wave he has no control over. 

Ouma rocks his hips slowly until Saihara winces from overstimulation and finally collapses forward into Saihara’s waiting arms, letting the quickly softening cock slip out of him with a sigh. Saihara pets Ouma’s hair with his free hand — his other still holding one of Ouma’s tightly — and kisses the crown of his head as they both come down. Ouma whines and buries his face in Saihara’s neck, muttering something unintelligible. 

“Hm?” Saihara asks. Ouma pulls back with a frown, cheeks puffed out cutely.

“I _said_ I love you,” he clarifies and hides his face again, “making me say embarrassing things twice…”

They’ve exchanged the sentiment before, but it’s rare that Ouma says it freely, preferring to imply or joke about it instead. It sends a pang of affection through Saihara’s chest.

“I love you too,” he returns without hesitation.

“Wahh, Saihara-chan is so cheesy.” Ouma sits up and untangles himself from Saihara’s grasp, sliding off the bed and standing. “Eugh. You should take care of that,” he points to the condom still on Saihara, who rolls over to do just that with a pink flush on his cheeks. 

“Oh, speaking of cheese, I think I’ve earned those snacks now!”

Saihara smiles softly, hopelessly enamored. “Alright, but… shower first?”

“Only if you don’t spring any more dirty things on me while we’re in there!” Saihara hadn’t been implying they share, but he won’t object. Ouma saunters to the bathroom, obviously walking a little differently than he had on the way to the apartment. Saihara, the responsible one, gathers clothes for them to change into afterwards before following. He won’t press for anything else tonight, but stealing a few kisses won’t hurt. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> special thanks to my friends for encouraging me to write this <3
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/togamitarai)


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